Nicky and the Pike Family Reunion
by Illusive Woman
Summary: Nicky, 21, still an outsider, brings a strange girl home to meet the family.
1. Nicky and Cherry

Nicky and the Pike Family Reunion  
  
(Author Note: First attempt at BSC fiction ( For some reason, I've always had a Pike Family fascination, especially with Nicky, since he was always the outsider. So, please, review away!)  
  
He threw himself down on the couch, nuzzling his cheek against her thigh as Sylvester Stallone beat people up on the TV. "Aw, come on. It'll be fun."  
  
"Nick, we've been dating a whole two weeks – why the big rush for the meet- the-family day?"  
  
He sat up again, looking at her seriously, "It's a double party. Claire's graduating high school, Vanessa just graduated Penn. My entire family will be there – spouses, signifigant others, and all. Hell, I think my old baby- sitters are showing up. My yard is going to be Grand Central, and I'd just…..I'd really like you to be there."  
  
She bit her lip and turned a bit as he studied her. She wasn't a model, and in his mind, it was a compliment. Although he had traded his glasses for contacts the second he was allowed, he was always impressed with Cherry's trendy heavy frames. They said better than anything that she didn't give a damn what anyone else thought, period.  
  
"Why do you want me there so badly? I mean, they're your family….not mine."  
  
Nicky stood, beginning to pace a little. He'd never grown accustomed to his height. Somehow, he had wound up several inches taller than both his brothers or his father. "Why do I want you there?" he repeated. "Because…." Because I love you and I'd like you to meet my family, he thought. But of course he couldn't say that aloud, not yet. So he went to the second most important reason. "I tend to blend into my family. Everyone else has something…..distinctive. I'm just Nick. Nicky, Nicholas, whatever. And if I'm going to blend into the background….I'd like someone to talk to."  
  
"So I blend into the background, huh?"  
  
He whirled around to clarify what he said, then saw her grin and realized she was teasing him. His muscles relaxed a bit. "You couldn't blend if you wore body paint to match the wallpaper," he said softly.  
  
She gave him that sardonic smile he loved so much. "I'll take that as a compliment," she replied dryly. "But I don't see how you could blend, either."  
  
"You don't know my family," he said, just as dryly. "Mallory's a reporter, and her first children's book is coming out this fall. She's not famous, but she's got her talent. Byron's in medical school, Jordon's going for his Psy.D., Adam's been signed with the best architectural firm in D.C. Vanessa just graduated with a 3.9 GPA – do you know how hard that is? Even Margo – she's still just in college, but….well, you'll understand when you see her. And Claire's always been the baby. And I'm just – me." He moved his arm in a widesweeping gesture towards his window, where the wonderful city of Manhattan pulsed outside. "I'm 21, Cherry. I never even bothered going to college. I'm a bartender, for god's sake."  
  
"At the hottest club in the city," she pointed out reasonably.  
  
"Does it matter? I blend here, too, but at least I'm supposed to blend here. I go back home, and then what? Mallory talks about her new book and her beloved fiancé, or I hear about graduate school from my brothers, or….what does it matter, anyway." He sighed. "You better get a move on, or you're never going to get enough sleep to function in class tomorrow."  
  
She stayed seated, watching him. "Does it lessen who you are by how far your siblings went in college?"  
  
Rule Number One for my kids, should I ever have any, he thought fiercely, never date a future psychologist. "I know I'm supposed to say 'no.' That's the well-adjusted answer. No, it doesn't lessen me, no, it doesn't raise them above me. But I don't like that they have focus and I can't find mine."  
  
She stood up and shrugged on her coat. "It's not them you're upset at, you know."  
  
"I know. But being part of such a motivated family – hell, being around you so much. You know exactly what you want. You make me want to go out and accomplish great things….but I don't think I have great things in me."  
  
Cherry crossed the hardwood floor and leaned up to kiss him. He was tall, but she was just shy of five foot ten herself, so she didn't have to lean far. He liked that. She wrapped her arms around him lightly, and her voice was soft, but pure fact. "I think you could do any great thing you wanted to, Nick. I do." She kissed him one more time and walked towards the door. "And I'll think about the reunion. I promise."  
  
She turned at the door. Her leather coat swung around her ankles, the same black as her clunky heeled boots. Her skirt was blue denim and reached her ankles; her top a white peasant blouse. She always dressed simply, and he liked that too. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she smiled at him again. "I think you're wonderfully distinctive, Nick. You're obsessively neat, you listen better than anyone in my psychology classes, and you've read everything Aristotle wrote. You can talk about Calvin and Hobbes or Immanual Kant. You know so much about so much…..your family is specialized. You want to learn anything about anything, which is why it's so hard for you to choose one area to study, that's all. That in itself makes you special."  
  
He stared at her for a moment, unable to speak. No words could thank her for what she had said, so he did the next best thing. Striding forward, he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, under her coat, and kissed her deeply. He didn't let her go for a long time and when he did it was only because he knew she had class in the morning. Closing the door after her, he sunk down onto the couch, his mind spinning, his family forgotten for the moment. He was stuck in the past, back into the first time he'd seen her in the club….. 


	2. Memories

(Author's Note: This is kinda long. I needed exposition, and this is the required "background story." Consider it the two chapters in the BSC books where they describe everyone, and what they do in the BSC. Once you know it, you can skip it, but until then…..it's long, but necessary ()  
  
He could still remember it so clearly, which didn't surprise him. To use an old stupid expression, he had a mind like a steel trap. Anything he wanted to remember, he remembered flawlessly.  
  
* * *  
  
The club was jumping, as it usually was on a Friday night. Everyone crowded in; students from NYU, Fordham, Columbia, and a lot of the SUNY and CUNY schools on Long Island. It was a horrible night. He had broken up two fights already, and it wasn't even nine yet. He could only imagine what it would be like after midnight.  
  
He stormed back behind the bar after the second fistfight, massaging his aching shoulder. Nick made a habit of keeping himself in good shape, mostly to feel good and to be able to break up fights without getting his face bashed in. He was already taller than a good portion of the male population, so having the rest of the build made him intimidating. Well, it made him look intimidating, and that was good enough for a couple of drunks fighting over some cheap ho.  
  
He stalked right past her the first time he'd seen her, but that was understandable enough. The club was filled with women, and his habit was to ignore them and their pathetic advances. For the most part, they turned to him because he was forced to remain stationary behind the bar and, thus, couldn't run away like the rest of the menfolk. He was a consolation prize, and it irritated him to no end.  
  
It was impossible to meet decent women in NYC. Finding someone to suit you was like trying to find Armani at a garage sale. Unless the person holding the sale was Stacey McGill, the chances were slim. He hadn't left high school a virgin, so he was unable to hide behind the concept of "not knowing what he was missing" as a few of the shyer men he knew did. He knew exactly what he was missing and, well, he missed it. Stuffed with people as it was, Manhattan was a very lonely place and he had sated that loneliness with club girls only twice. He wasn't proud of himself for those nights, but he didn't even bother trying to be ashamed. There was nothing to be ashamed of. An unspoken agreement of one night, and for just that one night to not be alone was worth it. No feelings had been hurt, and the proper precautions were always taken, so there was no shame in Nick's mind.  
  
It was just those two times, though. Precautions or no, risks were real. Not just in terms of disease or pregnancy, but in emotions as well. He saw a lot of the same guys in the club, taking home different women each night, and he wondered how they detached their emotions from the acts. He didn't understand how "sex" could never eventually become "making love." It had been that way with Samantha, in high school, and that was what he missed, really. Not so much sex in and of itself, but everything that was supposed to go with it. None of the girls in their cheapest ho outfits understood that, and he ignored them on principle.  
  
But then he'd seen Cherry. To begin with, she was exotic. He'd always had a thing for exotic women. For the longest time, he'd had a crush on his sister's friend Jessi, simply because she was black in an all-white neighborhood. She was different. Cherry was even more different. To start with, her nationality was questionable. Her skin was almost gold, but the tone could have been some African-American a few generations ago, or some Spanish, or Bedouin, or even a dash of Native American. It was just impossible to tell. Her nose was pure Irish, her hair the lustrous jet- black of the Aztecs. She had beautiful almond-shaped eyes, but didn't look Asian at all.  
  
It wasn't just her looks that drew him. Exotic women populate clubs in Manhattan. It was the book in her hands. He had never known a woman to bring a book to a club. To top it off, it was a copy of a fantasy book he'd just finished, The Fire Rose by Mercedes Lackey. He'd managed to strike up a conversation without getting too flustered and found her, above all, really nice.  
  
Beautiful women aren't nice. It's a rule, probably written in every cosmetics book in the world.  
  
But she was. Her name was Charity Goldstein, the adopted daughter of a nice Jewish couple on Long Island. She was 21, and a junior at one of the CUNY schools. She was also engaged to her high school sweetheart, who was studying business down in Delaware.  
  
That deflated his rather high hopes of asking her out, but he didn't stop talking to her. A friend was a friend, especially in the city.  
  
So they began spending time together; at his apartment when she had the time, and at her parents' house when she couldn't spare the hours the train ride would cost her. And the more he got to know her, the more he fell in love with her.  
  
She wasn't just beautiful. She was smart, and funny, and all those good things everyone looks for. But there was more than that, things that would only appeal to him. She thought that war movies were stupid, she cried at the end of Homeward Bound when the animals come running full-force over the hill. She liked kids and wanted a few of her own someday. She hated the city, and wanted to live out in the country – just like he did. She wore no makeup, but spent exquisite amounts of money on body lotions and spicy perfume. She loved lifting weights, and working out together became a thrice-weekly routine at the gym in his building.  
  
There were so many times he almost told her how he felt. But every single time he opened his mouth, the light would catch on the economical engagement ring on her left hand and he'd close it again.  
  
Then something unexpected happened. Brent, her fiancé, came home for winter session, bearing the unpleasant news that he was breaking up with her. He hadn't found anyone new, he wasn't cheating on her, but "they were moving in two separate directions."  
  
Nick wasn't sure whether he should hug the guy and say thanks, or kill him for hurting Cherry's feelings.  
  
He didn't ask her out right away. He wanted to give her time. He didn't want to be The Rebound Boyfriend – if he managed to convince her to go out with him, he knew he'd someday convince her to wear his ring. That required time, and patience.  
  
Then there'd been James.  
  
Nicky had NO idea where she'd found that loser. Medium build, blond hair, and a motorcycle. It hadn't lasted long, maybe a month. But in that month, he watched her get a little paler. He watched her grades slip a notch.  
  
One night, she knocked on his door at 3am. Having just gotten home, he answered the door quickly and found her in the hallway, huddled in her warm coat and shivering. What struck him silent wasn't her posture, but the tearstains on her cheeks, the terrified expression, and the swelling purple bruise on the right side of her face.  
  
She looked at him with a scared expression, like he would send her away. Instead, he ushered her inside and got her a cup of tea, with a heavy helping of whiskey. She hadn't needed any prompting to tell her story.  
  
"I just went over there to break up with him," she whispered as she made herself small on his couch. "It was stupid to start it at all, and it was time to end it. He wasn't in a good mood, but I went ahead and did it anyway. He got pissed. S-said no one left him, no one was allowed to leave him. Ever. I took my purse and stood up to go. I almost made it to the door. But he g-grabbed my arm and h-he h-hit me. B-backhand acro-oss the f- f-face…"  
  
At that point she dissolved back into tears, crying against Nick's chest while he held her tight. Eventually she continued, saying how pissed she got, about how she'd punched James right in the eye and before he could do anything else, she stomped on his foot. Then kneed him in the groin when he bent over. While he was writhing on the floor, she ran. She knew if she stayed until he got up, she'd be dead.  
  
"I couldn't go home," she whispered. "My parents would – I couldn't. So I came here. I'm sorry, Nicky, I'm sorry…."  
  
"Shhh. Don't be sorry. I'll take care of you. I promise." He placed a kiss in her hair. It was the closest he had ever been to her, physically, but it didn't even occur to him.  
  
He held her like that until she fell asleep, then laid her gently on the couch, pulling his mother's old afghan over her. Then he sat in his favorite armchair, in the dark, thinking and thinking hard. He came up with these conclusions: James was a dangerous man. James apparently liked hitting women. Therefore, James wouldn't like that he was beaten up by a girl. A man like that would seek some kind of revenge.  
  
"Unless I form a pre-emptive strike," he said to himself. "One I'll enjoy immensely."  
  
Making sure Cherry was still asleep, he dug through her pocketbook for her Palm Pilot. In the addresses, he made a note of James's entry, and decided to take a little pre-dawn stroll.  
  
Not for nothing was he usually the one to break up fights in the club. He left the James's apartment with a shiner all his own and what the doctor would later diagnose as "bruised ribs." But he'd left James unconscious on the floor and that made it all worthwhile. He'd also left with Cherry's backpack, which she had left behind in her flight.  
  
Cherry wasn't at all happy about what he'd done. But she cared enough to make him go to the doctor and, after, asked him why the hell he'd done something so stupid.  
  
"I couldn't take the risk he'd try and hurt you again," was Nick's simple answer.  
  
And she'd kissed him.  
  
* * *  
  
The phone rang, jerking him out of the memory-induced doze. He stumbled to his feet with just a tiny grimace of pain. The shiner had faded to an ugly jaundice-color and his ribs only hurt when he moved suddenly.  
  
"What?" he answered grumpily into the phone.  
  
"Now, little brother….is that any way to greet your favorite cub reporter?"  
  
"Hey, Mal," he replied, trying to put some more cheer in his voice.  
  
"What's the matter? Are you alright? Your ribs –"  
  
"My ribs are fine," he said firmly. "They're bruised, not broken. That's something special I save for my fingers," he concluded, looking down at his several crooked fingers.  
  
Mallory laughed softly. "I suppose you do, yes. Anyway, I was just calling to make sure you're coming next weekend. I've managed to convince Luke to brave my family again."  
  
"I'm coming. I'm not – hold on a second." He pressed the 'flash' button to activate the call waiting. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Nicky, it's me. I'm just about home, and I was thinking the whole way, and, sure, I'd love to come meet your family. I mean, my last final is the Friday before, as long as I make it to the final…."  
  
"Really? Oh, that'd be great. It's next weekend – block off the whole weekend, okay? You can leave your bags here before – meet me here – we'll take the train – I mean, if –"  
  
He heard Cherry laugh over the phone. "We'll work it out tomorrow. I'll come by after Psych 224, so long as you'll let me study. Okay?"  
  
"It's a deal."  
  
He hung onto the phone an extra second, full of I-miss-you's and I-love- you's and so many other things that seemed too soon to say. There was a similar silence on her end, but she finally said, "Okay, I'm about to pass out. I'll see you tomorrow!"  
  
Feeling dazed, he hung up the phone, only to have it ring immediately. "Mallory! Shit!" He snatched the phone off the receiver again. "Sorry about that."  
  
"Your girlfriend?"  
  
"Cherry. Yeah. She said she'd come to the party!"  
  
"Calm down before you hurt yourself, Nicky. I can just see you jumping around that postage-stamp apartment of yours."  
  
He stopped his little dance. "Okay. I can't wait to see Luke again," he said mischievously.  
  
"Don't you dare! It's not his fault he happens to look like Mark Hammil!"  
  
Nick laughed again, "I'll see you next week, Mal. I've got to go."  
  
He had strange dreams that night, of the Star Wars cast as guests at his and Cherry's wedding, and the stormtroopers became bridesmaids and ushers. 


	3. The Atland School

(Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update! School, tests, etc. Just so you know, this section is Cherry's point of view ( I also kind of made up this college, so bear with me.)  
  
Cherry's POV: Just One Long Train Ride  
  
The Atland School of Alternative Psychology. I could sigh happily just thinking about it. I dream of that school the way most teenage boys dream of Britney Spears. It was a tiny school, where the work was one-on-one. Alternative psychology is my projected field. It makes perfect sense to me, and I hoped I could make Nicky's family understand what it was.  
  
I sighed, and Nicky glanced at me, "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing," I said, manufacturing a small smile. "Just a bit tired. I stayed up too late studying."  
  
He just gave me a reassuring kiss in my hair and went back to the Stephen King book I'd lent him.  
  
The Atland school. Beautiful, and certain to push me on my way to my future. It was a school so exclusive and picky that you can't even apply. They comb schools across the world and find people to interview. And they'd found me. They'd found me at the beginning of my junior year, before I'd even met Nicky. Back when Brent and I had deteriorated into strangers connected by a cheap cubic-z ring. They'd contacted me, they'd come out to interview me, and they'd vanished again. By now, late May, I'd nearly forgotten.  
  
But they hadn't. I got in. Not only did I get in, but I got a scholarship that included an apartment off campus. The only catch? The damn college was out in California. The stupid letter came this morning. I didn't even have a chance to read it until Penn station, while I waited for Nicky to show up with the luggage. I'd hid the letter quickly when I'd seen him.  
  
I looked up at Nicky. I could honestly say I loved him. I hadn't expected to. I always figured I'd fall for someone professionally minded like myself, on his way to grad school, ready to make a mark in the world. A confused but reasonably content bartender had never entered my thoughts.  
  
How could I turn down my dream school? On the other hand, how could I go away and leave him behind? I'm not much for long distance relationships. In fact (as proven with Brent) I tend to stray. Love is very emotional, but it's also greatly tied to the physical for me. I need the physical presence, or it's not a relationship.  
  
I closed my eyes tightly. In one letter, my world had shattered in half. And it sucked.  
  
* * *  
  
The next thing I knew, Nicky was shaking me awake. "We're here, Cherry. And I can see my sister on the platform."  
  
"Which one?" I asked wryly as I stood and fetched my stuff.  
  
"Mal." He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me off the train. I was tempted to be irritated, and then remembered he hadn't seen his family since Christmas. And it tugged at me again – he wouldn't want to leave his family three thousand miles behind, even if I did dare to ask him to come with me to California.  
  
I was still blinking sleepily when we landed on the platform. I woke up a little as he grabbed a short redheaded woman and hugged her tightly, lifting her and spinning her. At that point, I couldn't help but smile.  
  
She laughed and struggled to put her hair back in place when her feet touched solid ground again. "You must be Cherry," she said, turning to me. "I'm Mallory Pike – well, soon to become Mallory Rouchard." She gestured to the man at her side. "This is my fiancé Luke Rouchard."  
  
I smiled at the man, spooked by how much he resembled Mark Hammil in the first Star Wars.  
  
"I know," he said with a dry smile. "Don't even say it."  
  
"So," Mallory said, taking my arm and beginning to lead me away. "What is it you study?"  
  
I glanced back at the men, who shrugged and started hefting luggage. I grinned and turned to Mal. "Psychology. Alternative psychology, specifically."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
I sighed inwardly. "A lot of people can't express themselves through words well, so normal therapy, talking things out, is useless. They get flustered and frustrated and nothing gets accomplished. But a lot of those people can express what they feel through, I don't know, painting, or poetry, or music. And once they've straightened that out, they usually find the words."  
  
I couldn't believe it; she actually looked fascinated. By this time we were standing next to a pretty rental car and she was studying me intently. "How did you become interested in this?"  
  
I smiled a bit sadly. "I started therapy about five years ago, and got stuck, and my therapist told me to take time and write it down. I wrote songs – and I found the music to fit them. I learned to play the piano. And now…."  
  
"Now you can talk about those things better? That's pretty interesting. What kind of songs?"  
  
I glanced over at Nicky, struggling with all the luggage. He was almost within earshot, so I just said quietly. "Painful ones."  
  
She just nodded. I think she knew better than to push. She gestured to the car and we got in, leaving our poor men to get the baggage into the car. "Ready to face the Pike Troop?" she said with a smile.  
  
I found myself smiling. "For Nicky, I'll manage."  
  
(Author's Note: I may or may not use Cherry's POV again. I found it awkward, but I needed this info out in the open.) 


	4. Ready to Run

(Author's Note: I want to apologize for taking so long to continue the story! My delay can be summarized as: School, my mom's kidney transplant, and more school. I start spring break tomorrow, so I figured I'd get a head start on this fanfic again.)  
  
Nick sat in the backseat of his sister's rented car. Unlike him, she and Luke had to fly in from New Orleans. He took hold of Cherry's hand, rubbing his thumb over the pulse point of her wrist. She smiled at him, but turned her face back to the window quickly. Something was wrong there, and Nick didn't like it. Usually Cherry didn't shut up. For her to be so quiet for so long meant something was wrong. He hoped it was just a little nervousness over meeting his rather large family.  
  
He moved a little closer to her in the car and began pointing out parts of the town as they passed it, and some of the things that had happened there - the time he and Buddy had accidentally kicked a soda off the balcony railing in that movie theatre and had been banned for a month, the time he and his first girlfriend, Kerri, had been caught kissing in the band room of SMS and given detention. Anything to distract her from whatever was on her mind.  
  
Before he knew it, they were pulling up in front of his house. It looked bigger than he remembered, always did, but maybe that was because eight kids didn't live there anymore. Only one - Claire - and she was about to leave for Arizona State in a few months. It was depressing, in a way. What a cycle of life. His parents go nuts raising so many kids, and then the kids scatter to different parts of the country. Mallory in New Orleans, Adam in DC, Jordon was going to move out to Iowa where his girlfriend lived, Vanessa in Pennsylvania, Margo tended to stick to the Midwest.. The only kids who still lived close were him and Byron, who went to school at Johns Hopkins. He was shocked, when he found out, that Johns Hopkins was only one exit on the Long Island Expressway away from Cherry's school, the City University of New York at Queens.  
  
Stepping out of the car into the fresh air, it suddenly didn't matter who went where. Everyone called, everyone emailed, and everyone came home for important events like this. Someone could move to Nepal, and it wouldn't matter. Family was family.  
  
But his family, today, was silent. The front yard was empty, the house dark.  
  
"They should all be out back," Mallory offered. "They were when we left. Go on - we got the luggage."  
  
"C'mon," he whispered to Cherry. "You ready for the tribe?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "You're asking an only child - an adopted child at that - if she's ready to face her boyfriend's six other siblings? The answer, hon, is 'never.' But let's go. This might actually be one of the easier trials in my life."  
  
He wasn't sure what she meant by the trials in her life, but made a mental note to ask her later. In the meantime, he took her hand and hurried towards the tall fence around the backyard. Even before he opened it, he could hear the sound of nearly a dozen voices carrying on four or five different conversations.  
  
His gaze sweeped the yard before he went any further. His parents over by the potato salad. Vanessa reading poetry to her boyfriend and Byron, who always had a softer side. Jordan and Adam were in a heated debate about something. And Claire and Margo were bent over a sketchpad, Margo pointing to various parts of Claire's body. He noticed his parents shooting them worried looks, but decided not to interfere at all.  
  
His siblings had grown up in quite normal ways. He sometimes looked at older family portraits and realized that they all looked nearly the same..just older.  
  
"There's my parents," he told Cherry, pointing. "I'll run introductions in a second. Vanessa's the dark-haired poetry reader. Byron's in the red shirt, Adam the gray, Jordan the green. That's the easiest way to keep them straight at first. Claire's the one in the dress, and Margo's the one with the piercings. She's probably trying to get Claire to get a tattoo."  
  
The only one who turned out much differently was Margo. Always obsessed with beauty and makeup and ribbons and bows, she later turned that passion to decorate into a fascination with tattoos. She made an excellent living in the Midwest as a tattoo artist, although most of hers were hidden. She understood the necessity of being able to appear, well, normal. Although most of the time she went around in black plastic, black PVC, or black silk. Her makeup was black. Her hair was dyed black. She had a nosering, a bellyring, an eyebrow ring, and several earrings in each ear. Not surprisingly, she was still the sibling Nicky got along best with.  
  
She chuckled. "I have the feeling we'll get along, then."  
  
"Don't bet on it," Nick answered dryly. "We were really close as kids, and she hated every girl I brought home. Every one. She picked fights, she was mean. I think she was jealous or something, but just be prepared." He tugged her hand. "Let's go make introductions." 


	5. Conversations Beneath a Tree

(Author's Note: SO sorry it took this long! I got caught up in school and finals and work... but I got a review a day after summer vacation started, as a karmic reminder to get some more work done on this fic! I've had characters running scenes in my head all day, so I guess its time to appease them by writing them down!)  
  
Cherry's POV:  
  
It took nearly an hour in the Pike's backyard before the muscles in my neck and shoulders started to relax. Family reunions are Not My Thing. My family is very small – my parents couldn't have their own kids, so they adopted me from Columbia late in life. My extended family includes one set of grandparents, one aunt, one uncle, and one cousin. Rosh Hashanah and Hanukah and all the other Jewish holidays are pretty low-key – some prayers, some temple time, and a hell of a lot of eating. That's what I'm used to in terms of family.  
  
In terms of lots of people, I'm more used to wild parties. The kind with random couples locked in the host's bedroom, plenty of illegal substances, and neighbors calling the cops because of the music level. Of course, I haven't been there since high school, but it's still a situation in which I know what I'm doing.  
  
But this? Lots of people, but family feelings? Freddy movies aren't as scary. By this point, I was introduced to everyone, but between thinking about the letter from Atland and worrying about making a bad impression, I alternately babbled and clammed up. I felt like an idiot. The only person I connected with at all was Jordan – because he's also training in psychology, he challenged me to a debate of Freud versus Jung. All of it went right over Nicky's head, I could tell. He tends to prefer philosophy to psychology. The second I started throwing around terms like 'oral stage' and 'anal stage' I knew he wanted to respond with something dirty, but simply wouldn't do it in the presence of his family. So he wandered off.  
  
Having relaxed me a bit, Jordan also left after awhile and I wound up talking to everyone for a bit. They were the typical shallow conversations, lightly veiled attempts to grill me as to my intentions towards their son/brother and my life goals. I managed to be noncommittal, but pleasant. What should I have said? That I loved Nicky, but we would probably be breaking up in a few days so I could pursue my education? Ignoring Atland would be one of the stupidest moves in my life. So I kept myself a little separated from the family. No use getting attached to them, right?  
  
After another half an hour or so, as I was sipping my seventy-eighth diet soda, Jordan came back up to me, but he didn't challenge me to a debate this time.  
  
He leaned against the heavy tree with me. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.  
  
I could tell he was trying for a private, non-family conversation, but I lied anyway and said nothing was wrong.  
  
He smiled. "I won't insult you by pretending to believe you. And I won't insult your knowledge of psychology by attempting roundabout questions. You're important to my brother, so I'd like to know what's wrong."  
  
I couldn't help but smile back, though it faded quickly. "Doctor-patient privilidge in effect?"  
  
Jordan held up two fingers and intoned solemnly "Scout's honor."  
  
"You were never a scout."  
  
"Pure semantics."  
  
I couldn't help but trust him. And I did need to talk. So I spilled the story – most of it. I told him about the Atland school, and about how I wasn't invited because of my spectacular grades – because, lets save a lie here, my grades weren't that great – but because of my complete life turnaround and my unique experiences in therapy. I glossed over a lot of the former, preferring not to divulge the more intimate details of my life to a relative stranger. But I gave him the gist of it.  
  
He was looking at me critically by the time I was done. "And does Nicky know....any of this?"  
  
I smiled again without realizing it. "Nicky and reality don't get to meet all that often. He's got all these great idealistic ideas and never wants to really see what's happening, I think. He likes to think that everyone had the spectacular childhood he had. I told him once that I'm not very close with my parents, that we don't get along, and he looked at me like I had three heads."  
  
"Reasonably analysis, but kind of unfair. I think he sees more than you think. For instance, he's watching us right now and wondering what we're talking about that's taking so long and looking so intimate."  
  
I backed up half a step from Jordan. Glancing over at Nicky, I found that Jordan had been right; Nicky was watching us and pretending not to. I smiled at him and, taking it as an invitation, or a sign that my conversation with Jordan was at a close, he started walking towards our tree.  
  
"I'd tell him quickly," Jordan muttered before Nicky reached us. "He might just surprise you."  
  
I smiled again at Nicky as he reached us and swept me up into a hug. "So!" he said, keeping an arm rather possessively around my waist, "what conversation am I interrupting?"  
  
I grinned. He was being cavalier about it, but I'd always wondered if a bit of a jealous streak ran through his laid-back nature. Turns out I was right....there was. "Just trying to figure out how moviemakers can toss around psychology-related words in scripts without taking the faintest care what the word really means. It totally ruins a movie for me. Like in The Haunting? Liam Neeson says Lili Taylor is in a 'fugue state' when it's anything but."  
  
Nicky studied me a long moment, then chuckled. "Well, I don't know a fugue state from Washington State. Want to take a walk around the neighborhood?"  
  
"Sure," I answered quickly. I glanced back at Jordan once on the way out of the yard. So he thought Nicky would surprise me....I wasn't sure about that, but I'm sure I'd find out. I'm a horrendous liar, and I knew it was only a matter of time before pretty much everything was exposed. 


	6. Confessions in a Barn

(Authors Note: Alright, I know that the Spiers/Schafers eventually made their barn into the house after it burned, but that took place in the books after the official BSC ended, so I'm pretending it doesn't exist : ) Also: Yes, there WILL BE fun times with the Pikes! But first there must be drama. Drama is the price of fun.)

Note 2: Wow, I didn't realize it's been over a year since I updated this! As of last week, I am a college graduate and have finished my student teaching, so it's time to get back to the stuff I really enjoy

Nicky's POV again(yes, I've somehow worked this story back into first person, and it's going to stay there):

We walked around my old neighborhood silently, hand in hand, for awhile. There was something very wrong, but I wanted Cherry to bring it up on her own, although I'd force it if I had to. I didn't believe her for a second about whatever it was she and Jordan had been discussing; it had been some real heavy-duty conversation, not a lighthearted poke at movie flubs. Something had been bothering her all day, and I no longer believed it had anything whatsoever to do with my family.

We circled a block or two before I got an idea. "Come on," I said, tugging her hand, and she silently followed me down to Burnt Hill Road. I stopped in front of the Spier's house, where I'd discovered an ancient hidden passage one summer when I was eight. The house connected to the passage had burned down some years ago, but had been rebuilt – more modern, but still beautiful. The other end of the passage was a large, airy barn that still stood, and it was here that I drew Cherry.

"This is private property," she said, hesitating.

"This place belongs to my old babysitters' parents. They're away visiting Mary Anne in Boston for the weekend and besides, I've had free access to this place for twelve years or so. They don't care."

We settled ourselves in the barn where it was shady and a good ten degrees cooler than outside. Cherry was wearing a tank top, and I saw her chafe her upper arms with her hands quickly. The stalls themselves were clean and full of soft straw – I sat in them a million times in high school, reading and studying, and that's where we wound up now. I sat facing her and immediately realized that I was getting a bit ticked off. For some reason, she was dicking me around and I didn't like it at all.

"Comfortable?" I asked. When she nodded I continued, "Good. Because you're going to tell me about whatever it is that's bothering you."

She immediately stood back up with a half-angry, half-disgusted sound. "God! What is it about everyone today? Why does everyone assume something's bothering me!"

"Because something is!" My voice rose to match hers and I stood also, grabbing hold of her forearm and forcing her to face me. "Now quit bullshitting me. I mean it. There's only so much distance and so many lies I can take in one day."

"I always wondered if you had a temper outside of assholes like James."

"Don't try to distract me, Cherry. It won't work."

She wrenched her arm free and walked a few feet away, looking out of one of the barn's big windows, taking in a view of the more rural Stoneybrook. I watched her silently. Her long dark hair rippled a bit in a small breeze and she rubbed at her arms again, chilled. I wanted to go and wrap her up and find a way to make her happy again – but I wanted answers more. Long minutes passed but neither one of us moved. I almost reached out to touch her, but realized at the last second that this kind of silence meant extreme contemplation on her end.

"Are you serious at all about me?" she asked finally, not moving an inch.

"No, I got my ribs bruised for fun." I'm afraid the sarcasm left me before I could check it, so I attempted to correct myself. "You know I am."

"That's not a safe place to be. Caring about me. I'm not a good person to care about. I'm one really fucked up individual, Nicky." Her voice dropped to a whisper before she finished the sentence.

"We're all screwed up, love. That's part of life." I did touch her now, gently, on her bare arm. She flinched, so I withdrew my hand.

"No, I mean really fucked up. It's why my engagement didn't last. It's what drove me to take up with James and . . ." she sighed. "What does it matter anyway?"

"Baby . . ." Standing behind her, I reached around and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't flinch this time. At any other time she would have slugged me for calling her 'baby'. "It always matters to me what's gone on in your life."

Cherry barked out a short, humorless laugh and turned to look at me. Her face was strained, but her eyes and cheeks were bone dry. "I was date-raped when I was thirteen, Nick. My very first date. Do you know what cognitive psychology is?"

I couldn't breathe for a second. "Who . . . ?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Doesn't matter at this point. What matters is what happened afterwards. Cognitive therapy concentrates on the belief structure. What happens isn't so important, it's what we believe about what happens to us. Do you know what I believed after that?" She was talking fast now, furiously, as if she wanted to spit the words out as quickly as possible. "I believed that if I had no control over what others did with my body anyway, I might as well be free with it and get some fun out of the deal. My nickname in high school was Wild Cherry – because that's what I was. Every party the cops crashed, I was there. Every street drug invented, I tried it. I spent most of my school days stoned on something or another, or slipping into the janitor's closet with someone. My entire life revolved around who I was fucking, and what I could pump into my system. Didn't matter what, so long as I didn't have to actually live in my life. I did a lot of stuff I'm not proud of anymore, and even more than I simply can't remember clearly. I know I screwed total strangers stoned out of my mind. I know I crashed college frat parties at fourteen years old and got so wasted I don't even remember what happened.

"My parents sent me into therapy at fifteen, and I've been in since. And you know what? It did diddly squat for me for the first few years. Nothing. I just had someone legitimate to brag to.

"You once commented, Nicky, that I go to bars but don't drink. That's for two reasons. One, I'm an addict. I don't drink because I don't stop drinking if I start. Two, that habit has earned me one really vengeful liver at this point. Do you want to know how I got myself cleaned up? It wasn't Outward Bound – although they sent me – and it wasn't the countless doctors and guidance counselors that tried to help me. It was my own death. I died for a few minutes. I was at a party celebrating the end of junior year and someone had either doctored whatever drugs I took, or the combination of the drugs did it, but my heart stopped. I woke up in the hospital nearly four days later and got immediately shipped to a 90-day rehab. That's how I spent the summer before senior year."

She sighed and shook her head, nearly spent now. "I've always preferred analysis to emotion. So I was given analysis. I was shown my MRI scans, shown the small dead areas of my brain where oxygen deprivation had destroyed cells. I was given complete details about the state of my liver, and how weak my heart really is now. You wonder why I keep myself in such good shape now? Because they told me I never could. For years, I rebelled against everyone and everything with my lifestyle and it nearly killed me. Then I rebelled against the doctors by proving to them I could be just as healthy as anyone with a little work. And yes, I am perfectly healthy somehow – no nasty residual STDs or HIV or secret abortions or anything. And believe me, that's all something I started worrying about senior year. All I've got still is a half-wrecked liver and a heart that can't take most drugs, even prescription ones, anymore. Not even nicotine. I had to give up cigarettes that summer too. At this point, I'm not even sure my heart could withstand childbirth – not like I'm looking to have kids anyway. But senior year -- that's when I turned it all around, with Brent's help. He's such a straight arrow, and he was assigned by the school to tutor me through my failed subjects while I was in rehab. He had such utter contempt for the things I'd done…. I was used to being looked up to for being the wild one, the free one…."

She flopped down into the straw and I sat down beside her, nearly as exhausted as she was. I'd been silent this whole time because I had no idea at all what to say to her. I had gotten the impression she'd been a bit of a wild child, despite the plain seltzer water she always drank, but I'd had no idea it was that deep. I didn't need to ask why she didn't tell me – I'd done my share of relatively illegal things, but I was mostly a straight arrow at this point in my life.

I wrapped my arms around her, but not too tightly. I didn't say anything yet – what would I say? "I'm sorry"? Of course I was sorry, but she would know that. I couldn't say it didn't matter to me, because it did – just not in that way.

"So now I know," I said quietly after awhile. "And . . . if I can accept this as part of who you are, why shouldn't I feel free to care about you? To love you?" There. I'd said it.

Cherry didn't respond for awhile. Her face was in profile, but it was obvious she was running replies through her head. "Because," she said finally, "I won't make you choose."

"Between what?" I asked, emotionally drained and exasperated.

"Me and your family."

"Why should I have to choose? They like you, you like them . . . . where's the choice?"

She pulled out of my arms and walked a few feet away. When she turned, her face was set, determined. "Fine, then. Nicky – I'm moving to California at the end of the summer. Do you want to come with me?"

"Before I answer that -- why are you going?"

"I got accepted. At Atland – full scholarship, even an apartment so I can devote most of my time to studying."

I started smiling. I couldn't help it. "You got in? Full scholarship – to become a psychologist?"

"Yes."

"In beautiful, sunny California?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to come with you? Live in that paid-for apartment?"

"For God's sake, Nicky, yes."

I leapt to my feet, catching my girlfriend in a hug and swinging her in a circle. "That's incredible!" I kissed her before she could say anything, pulling her up and close. Kissed her until her tense muscles started to relax and I felt her hands press to my back.

She pulled her head back for a second, looking at me with eyes that were bewildered and a little dazed from the kiss. "You'll really come with me to Cali? Why?"

"'Cause I love you."

"What about your family?"

"I love them, too."

"_Nicky_ . . ." she scolded and slapped lightly at my hands as they dipped under her light shirt. "You know what I mean. Why leave your family three thousand miles behind?"

I sighed but refused to move my hands. "Because I'm not leaving them behind. Most of my family is scattered around the country at this point. I don't need to be right here to know that they're there for me." I bent to kiss her again, speaking between kisses. "I've been to California, and I loved it there. And I want to be with you. And I want you to go for your dream without regrets. And with not having to pay for an apartment, maybe I can go to school myself . . . maybe . . ."

By this point, both of our shirts were gone, dropped into the hay, and we tumbled together into a large, soft pile of hay ourselves. Everything about her was soft and curved – her skin, her hair, her face . . . being so tall, built like an Amazon warrior, she was everything I'd ever wanted in a woman. Beautiful. And mine. Especially now – in all senses, mine. There was her, and this love, and California, and I wondered how I'd ever been sad a day in my life . . .

. . . And, unfortunately, there would still be the trip back to tell my parents about everything.

Well, maybe not everything.


End file.
